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Dean’s glare could have cut through glass, but Cas parried it away with a roll of his eyes. Into the phone, he said, “He’s not happy that I’m discussing this with you.”
Sam gave a long-suffering sigh. “Can you put me on speaker?”
“Of course.” Cas pulled his phone away from his ear and did what Sam asked, holding the phone between him and Dean.
“Dean,” Sam said, a reprimand. “Were you just never going to pick up the phone?”
Dean glared at Cas over the phone between them. He was sitting up in Cas’s bed, leaning against the headboard, even though Cas had repeatedly asked Dean to lie down and try to get some sleep. Eventually Cas had abandoned his attempts at getting Dean to comply and got Sam on the phone.
So there they both sat on Cas’s bed - Dean with his legs under the covers and Cas sitting at his hip, with Sam the mediator on the phone between them. “I was going to eventually,” Dean said to the phone sullenly.
“Were you going to tell me you were running a fever?”
Dean lifted a hand in frustration. “Dude, it’s a fever, not fucking pneumonia.”
“You fainted in Cas’s kitchen.”
“I was lightheaded! I sat down!”
“Yeah, on the floor. Cas had to carry you to the bed.”
“What the hell - did he say that? He helped me into bed; there was no carrying involved.”
“Dean.”
“What? I’m fine!”
“Cas says you’ve been a difficult patient.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I just wanna get out of his hair, alright? It’s bad enough I’m sick; I shouldn’t have to make anyone my nurse, especially on a fucking holiday.”
“I like taking care of you,” Cas said firmly. “That’s not the first time I’ve said it.”
“Nobody likes taking care of sick people, Cas.”
“There are literally careers built around taking care of sick people.”
“Yeah, and careers built around shoveling horse shit. No one likes it.”
Cas shook his head, weary. “Sam, I’ll call you later. I think we’re only stressing him out.”
Dean craned his head to say smugly into the phone’s receiver, “Yeah, you hear that, Sammy? You’re causing me stress.”
“Grow up, Dean,” Sam said, though without any venom. “Stop giving Cas a hard time.”
Dean’s jaw dropped. “I’m not giving anyone a hard time - “
“Bye, Sam,” interrupted Cas. He ended the call, then gave Dean the firmest look he could manage, though he knew it was softened by affection. “Dean, you need to sleep.”
Dean opened his mouth, ready to argue, but then closed it just as suddenly, deflating. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Cas, I don’t mean to be a dick.”
“Then stop being one,” Cas said simply, adjusting the blankets around Dean a little more snugly.
There was a pause. Dean blinked. “You’re supposed to say that I wasn’t being a dick in the first place.”
“I dislike lying to you.”
Dean scowled. “Why am I your friend?”
“Because I spend my holidays looking after you when you’re sick,” Cas said matter-of-factly, reaching out to touch Dean’s forehead.
Dean batted the hand away, his lip curling. “You’re going to hold this against me for years, aren’t you?”
Cas couldn’t resist a smile. “Decades, if I’m lucky enough. Now please go to sleep.”
As Dean slept, Cas kept watch. He pulled a chair from the kitchen and set it next to the bed. Eventually he picked up a book, but rather than read, he found himself more often than not simply watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest under the blanket, relieved that Dean had come over for the new year because otherwise Dean would be suffering alone in his apartment half an hour away.
Cas hadn’t been lying when he said he liked taking care of Dean - it was always a privilege when Dean allowed himself to receive rather than give, and though the circumstances were unfortunate, Cas was enjoying being Dean’s caretaker -
“Stop watching me sleep, you creep.”
Despite the abuse.
“You’re hallucinating,” Cas said mildly, “You should go back to sleep.”
“My head’s killing me,” Dean groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. “Make sure Sam chooses a good picture of me for my funeral.”
“If I don’t?”
“I’ll haunt you forever.”
“If only I could be so lucky.”
Dean poked his head out to shoot an incredulous look at Cas. “You’re a sap today.”
Cas put out a hand and placed it on Dean’s forehead, gratified when Dean’s eyes fluttered closed. “Again, you’re hallucinating. Go to sleep.”
The fever waned, but then strengthened again in the morning, a fact Cas was only aware of when he wandered back into the bedroom from a nap on the couch and Dean grabbed his wrist with a heated palm.
“You’re burning up again,” Cas said, feeling pity tug his lips into a frown. Before he could reach out a hand to feel Dean’s forehead, Dean made a disgruntled noise and pulled on Cas’s wrist. Cas stopped, confused. Dean was squinting at him, fresh from a fevered sleep, probably only half aware of his actions. Astounded, Cas stuttered, “Do you want me to - “ He motioned to the empty space in the bed next to Dean. All Dean did was pull again on Cas’s wrist.
Cas could think of nothing else that gesture could mean, so he slowly pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed, the sheets warm with fever. “I’m going to catch this bug from you, and you’re going to pay for it,” he murmured, but his bravado fell flat when Dean sidled closer.
Dean’s eyes were already closed, but there was a quirk of contentment in his lips when he flung an arm over Cas’s stomach and let his head fall onto Cas’s shoulder.
Cas blinked at the ceiling, helpless and immobile. His chin brushed against Dean’s hair. He could smell Dean’s shampoo and the faint scent of sweat underneath. He clenched and unclenched his hands from where they were held captive at his sides.
Dean sighed, and his warm breath skated across Cas’s collar.
Swallowing hard, Cas murmured, “Try to sleep, Dean.”
A few hours later, Cas woke from a poor nap to see Dean sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His T-shirt was creased, but Cas could see it was a T-shirt he’d bought Dean for one of his birthdays - one with the name of a band and a scandalously clad woman adorning its front. He’d bought it as a joke but Dean had cackled in triumph and put it on almost immediately, grinning at Cas so widely and sincerely that Cas had never found the heart to say it was a joke.
Since then the shirt had become stretched and worn, but every time Cas saw it he was reminded that despite Dean’s occasional prickliness, he cared for Cas. Cas wished he could remember which one of Dean’s favorite bands it was but in the darkness of the room, the quiet contentment that still warmed Cas’s bones, he couldn’t remember.
Without thinking, he placed a hand on Dean’s back. Dean froze.
Cas snatched his hand back. Suddenly wide awake, he cleared his throat. “Are you feeling any better?”
Dean ran a hand over his face without turning toward Cas. “Yeah. Throat’s dry as all hell, though.”
“I’ll grab some water,” Cas said, eager to escape the room. He flung the covers away from him and left the room, unable to shake the feeling that Dean was watching as he went.
A few hours later, Dean found his car keys and donned his coat - thick, dark blue, a gift from Sam and Eileen that Cas always silently thanked them for because Dean looked so good in blue and Dean always seemed more confident in it.
The Impala was parked by the curb outside, covered in the lightest layer of fine snow. Dean cooed at the car as they approached, reaching out to her roof and apologizing for leaving her out in the cold.
Cas lingered nearby in a sweater and a hastily procured scarf, shoving his hands in his pants pocket as the cold sunk in. He had the distinct impression that Dean was stalling somehow.
Eventually Dean turned to him, putting his hands in his coat pocket and looking over Cas’s shoulder at the door to the house - anywhere but at Cas’s face. “Guess we didn’t get to do the whole New Year thing, did we?”
Cas looked at his shoes. “Yes, well, when your best friend nearly faints in your kitchen, celebrations kind of take the back burner.”
Dean blew out a frustrated breath, looking around at the neighbor’s driveway. “Sorry. Again.”
Cas looked up to stare incredulously at Dean’s profile. “Not to say that I wish you were ill more often, but allow me to repeat: I like taking care of you.”
Dean’s lips quirked upward in a show of amusement, but Cas sensed the doubt behind it. He sighed but could find no words to convince Dean.
They stood by Dean’s car in an awkward silence for a few moments. The snow around them was light, but it fell steadily, pushed sideways by a light breeze and leaving icy flakes resting on Dean’s coat. Cas could see some of it slowly melting in Dean’s hair. The reminder of its transience made him think about Dean, about their friendship, about how the Dean currently standing in front of him would not be the same Dean standing in front of him in two minutes.
In the pockets of his pants, Cas curled his fingers into his palms. How many more versions of Dean, ignorant of Cas’s feelings, would exist? Cas’s mouth opened - to say what, even he didn’t know - but then Dean broke the silence with a cough and a stomp of his legs against the cold.
“Y’know, I should have stayed home.”
Cas was cold and confused, and growing colder and more confused by the second. Brow furrowed, he said, stiltedly, “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Dean batted away his response with a hand that went quickly back into the pocket of his coat. “Listen. I knew I was sick. I should have stayed home. But I didn’t.” He looked Cas straight in the eye for the first time since they’d left the warmth of Cas’s house. “Because I had a plan.” His throat bobbed.
“A plan,” Cas repeated numbly. He tried to understand what Dean was getting at, tried to think of some other ‘plan’ that Dean might have thought of that wasn’t what Cas was hoping for, but he drew a blank.
“A plan,” Dean confirmed. “For - for the new year.” His eyes were fierce, though his lips were pressed together tightly. He waited for a response.
“Well,” Cas started, very slowly, “There’s still time.”
The breath Dean released rose up as steam in the freezing air. “It’s kind of a plan that should have happened at midnight.”
There was no misunderstanding what Dean meant. Despite the numbing cold, Cas’s cheeks tingled. His stomach flipped. He reached for words - any words - because now Dean was waiting on a response, and Cas was not going to let this opportunity slip away. “I - if it’s still possible, I say you should continue with the plan anyway.”
Dean stared at him for another long moment, then he nodded, looking away, resolute. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself. “Yeah, okay.” Then he looked at Cas again, determination in the set of his mouth. “Cas, can I kiss you?”
Cas had known it was coming, but still the words said out loud took his breath away. He forgot every word in the language, pinned under Dean’s heavy, expectant gaze - a gaze that was becoming more and more anxious the longer Cas didn’t respond. So Cas did what he could: he reached out a hand and hauled himself closer to Dean by the lapel of that damned coat. Under his fingers the fabric was thick, scratchy, and wet with snow, but still Cas held on.
Dean’s eyes were wide, almost startled, despite receiving exactly what he asked for. Cas leaned even farther in, encouraging, waiting. It took Dean a second, but then he too was leaning in, his nose suddenly cold against Cas’s cheek, but his lips, when he finally pressed them to Cas’s, blissfully warm.
The kiss was tentative - a test. Cas understood that three years of friendship were being trod upon for this moment, so he trod carefully. It didn’t stop elation from flooding his veins when, as he broke away, he saw Dean chase after the kiss for the barest second.
They stayed in each other’s space for a few moments. Dean’s hands had found their way out of his pockets to Cas’s waist, and as Cas became aware of them, he felt Dean’s grip loosen, then fall away. Dean stepped away, looking down at the footsteps that marked where he’d been standing in the snow kissing Cas. His cheeks were flushed a beautiful pink, and it was obvious he was biting down on a bashful grin.
“Anyway,” Dean said, after clearing his throat. He looked around quasi-casually. “I should probably go.”
Cas caught Dean looking back at the Impala and found he couldn’t bear the thought of Dean leaving, of being apart from all the future versions of Dean there would be, even for a day. He reached out and touched Dean’s face. “You’re flushed,” he said.
Dean sent him an unimpressed look. “You gonna start bragging about your kissing skills now?”
Cas admired the way Dean seemed to so easily accept the change between them, especially because Cas himself was having trouble tamping down on the temptation to get down on one knee and produce a ring. Cas tried to reassemble his expression into one of concern. “I don’t think you’re fully recovered yet, Dean.”
“Is that so?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
Cas curled a hand around Dean’s wrist. “I suggest more bedrest.”
Dean’s mask slipped a little. His throat bobbed. “You know,” he said quietly, “I’m so happy I think I might actually be hallucinating.”
Cas couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he’d kissed Dean and it had made Dean happy. The concept that Dean returned his feelings was so immense it didn’t seem real. “Then I think I’m hallucinating as well,” is all he had to say, very unhelpfully.
Dean pressed his cold nose to Cas’s cheek again. “You should probably join me for bedrest,” he said, his voice a rich murmur.
Cas smiled. “Will you not hog the covers this time?”
A pause. “Are you calling me a blanket hog?” Dean asked incredulously, drawing back to look at Cas’s face. “I’m not.”
A few hours later, Cas was lucky enough to find out that Dean was indeed a blanket hog.